


no one has to guess (what's underneath)

by coricomile



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Crossdressing, Feminization, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: There's a box on the bed, sitting in the middle of the mattress innocuously. Patrick peeks in and nearly chokes on his breath as he catches sight of the dress inside.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	no one has to guess (what's underneath)

**Author's Note:**

> backlogging the fic. hope ya'll enjoy.

Pete isn't in the apartment when Patrick gets there. Patrick calls for him, his voice echoing off the walls, but there's no answer. It's weird, being in Pete's apartment without him, wandering through his stuff without Pete at his shoulder explaining everything.

His watch says four o' clock and the text in his phone had specified four. He's not early and Pete's normally not one for missing their time alone. Patrick prods around Pete's place idly, kicking his shoes off under the dining room table and laying his jacket across the back of the couch. He likes it here, even with all the clutter. It's nice. Comfortable.

Sometime around four thirty, his phone goes off in his pocket. It's a text from Pete saying he's running late- obviously- and that there's something in the bedroom for him. Pete signs it with three x's, and Patrick's cheeks go a little pink. He wonders if it's a _something_ something.

He creeps around Pete's bedroom door for a few minutes, the low thrum of arousal in his veins making him antsy. He's sixteen; even the thought that this could be something sexual gets him hard, the pulse between his legs making him shift awkwardly. He takes a breath and pushes the door open slowly.

The thing is, he's asked for a lot of things. Pete had opened up a web browser once and quizzed him, pointed to things and toys and scenes and said, "This, do you want to try this?" and Patrick had felt like he was going to explode with both embarrassment and excitement, but in the end Pete had had a list of yeses and nos and a mouthful of promises.

There's a box on the bed, sitting in the middle of the mattress innocuously. Patrick peeks in and nearly chokes on his breath as he catches sight of the dress inside.

The fabric is silk, slinky and sheer as Patrick pulls it out. It's a deep green, and when Patrick holds it to his chest, it falls just above his knees, the material sticking to the rough fibers of his jeans. At the bottom of the box is a pair of blank panties, boycut lacy things that make Patrick blush. His phone rings, and Patrick holds it up to his ear, running his fingers over the dress reverently.

"Is it on?" Pete asks. He sounds a little husky, and that goes straight to Patrick's dick.

"Not yet," Patrick answers.

"Why not?" Pete asks, and it's the voice he uses when he's impatient, when Patrick isn't doing what he wants. "I want you in that dress when I get home. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Patrick answers.

"Good boy." Pete hangs up and Patrick lets out a slow breath.

He heads to the bathroom and pokes around the medicine cabinet until he finds a razor. Pete didn’t tell him to, but Patrick shaves his legs, thumb skimming across the smooth, pale skin that he reveals. When he pulls the panties up, his thighs tingle.

The dress slides on smooth, the silk so light it feels like he isn't wearing anything at all. He feels a little ridiculous as he smooths the hemline down, awkward as he adjusts to the feeling of nothing on his legs and the gentle pressure of the panties holding his dick up higher than it should be. He has to psych himself up to glance into the mirror.

The dress isn't magic; he's not better looking, and he's not suddenly soft and feminine or whatever, but he thinks with a little work he could be. He reluctantly sets his hat on the sink and finger combs his hair so that his bangs are parted down the center, the long sides covering his new and growing sideburns.

He stares down the eyeliner that's sitting behind the faucet and finally grabs it. Girls put it on every day. It can't be so hard. It takes a few test runs, but eventually Patrick gets the hang of it, lining his eyes neatly in small, even strokes. He smears away the places that he got a little shaky on and goes over it one more time, just to be sure, and then looks at himself again.

He looks…not pretty, no. But good. The thickness of his mouth and the smooth lines under his eyes look girly, soften his face. The dress is a little tight – either Pete picking wrong or Pete picking very right, Patrick isn't sure – and it hugs his sides, swelling a little at the round bump of his belly. The neck dips into a low v, and if Patrick had breasts, he's pretty sure they'd be popping straight out. The color makes his eyes look sharp.

It takes him a few minutes to muster up the courage to leave the bathroom. It's the point of no return. No going back and changing his mind. He breathes in slow – one, two, three – and steps back into the hallway determinedly.

Pete hadn't told him where to be, or what he should be doing, and Patrick's at a bit of a loss. He pads back and forth between the living room and the bedroom, compulsively smoothing down his hair and the sides of the dress. He ends up on the couch, bare feet propped on the table, knees closed to preserve some sort of modesty, eyes glued to the VCR clock.

He wakes up to Pete's hands sliding up his thigh, hot and rough. The clock says it's been nearly two hours. Pete scritches his nails down Patrick's leg and Patrick sits up immediately. If he felt ridiculous before, he feels downright foolish now.

"Stand up," Pete says, fingertips running up the tender inside of Patrick's thigh.

Patrick does as he's told, tugging at the hem of his dress anxiously. His face is burning and it's hard not to cross his arms over his chest. Pete doesn't like it when he does that; he's not allowed.

"Turn around." Pete watches expectantly, raising his eyebrows as Patrick hesitates. "Turn around," he says again, more forcefully.

Patrick does a slow spin and heat flares low in his belly. He's putting himself on display, making a show of it. Pete whistles as Patrick faces front again, eyes raking slowly up Patrick's body. Patrick keeps himself very still and is rewarded when Pete holds out a hand.

"Come sit on my lap," Pete says, dropping onto the couch and pulling Patrick forward.

Pete spreads his thighs wide under Patrick, and it forces him to keep his own legs open to stay balanced, the dress hiking up high and exposing long stretches of skin. Pete rests a hand over Patrick's chest, thumb pressing just a little against his nipple.

"You're such a good girl," Pete says softly.

It makes Patrick flush with embarrassment, but it also makes his dick swell in the tiny panties. Pete runs a thumb under Patrick's eye, and when he pulls back there's a bit of black from where Patrick's eyeliner had smudged.

"You made yourself so pretty for me. And pretty girls get rewards, don't they?"

Patrick nods, unsure if Pete wants him to talk, and Pete smiles. It makes Patrick's chest flutter, sweet and light and wonderful, and he remembers why he wanted to do this in the first place.

"Stay still for me," Pete says sweetly. His fingertips skim the hem of the dress, just barely skating over Patrick's skin. "Be a good girl and stay very, very still."

Pete's hand slides under the skirt of the dress, up over Patrick's hip. It feels like a brand, hot and large and soothing, and Patrick wants to push into it, but Pete told him to stay still, so he will. Pete's fingertips dip into the waist of his panties, and Patrick feels his cock jump as they stretch over it, silky and smooth. Pete moves his hand over slowly, slowly, until he's cupping Patrick through the material, rubbing him just shy of hard enough.

"My slutty girl," Pete coos, fingertips pressing up against Patrick's balls, the middle one slipping down far enough to draw a line between them. Patrick closes his eyes tight and bites his lip. His cock is so hard and he's ready to go at any second. "You're so wet. You're ruining your panties."

Pete thumbs the damp spot at the head of Patrick's cock, pressing the wet silk against him, and Patrick whimpers. Pete clicks his tongue, the hand he's holding Patrick steady with gripping him harder. Patrick's thighs feel tight, the muscles straining to stay still as Pete rocks his hand steadily.

He can feel Pete's hard on against his ass, and he wants to move against it, wants to grind down and hear the noises he knows Pete will make. He loves those noises, could probably get off to them, always so sensitive to sound, he is. If he just – if he just shifts a little, just a little –

"I said stay still," Pete says, hand going tight enough to hurt. Patrick whines, biting down on his lip to keep from shouting. He tries – he does – but he still flinches as Pete squeezes harder.

"Bad girl," Pete admonishes. "What happens to bad girls?"

"They get punished," Patrick stutters out, heartbeat in his ears like drums. He doesn't want to be punished, wants Pete to keep touching him, wants Pete to keep making him feel good.

"Get up," Pete orders, and Patrick scrambles to obey. He drops his head against his chest and stares at his exposed shins, doing his best not to fidget.

"Bedroom."

Patrick shuffles his way there, Pete trailing after him. He lingers at the doorway, eyes darting to the little box on Pete's dresser that has their handful of toys. Pete presses a hand between Patrick's shoulder blades and shoves him forward, towards the bed.

"Bend over it," Pete says, already moving to the box. "Dress up, panties down."

Patrick listens to Pete taking things out as he shimmies the panties down. He doesn't take them off – Pete didn't tell him to, doesn't want him to – and they force him to keep his legs together as he bends over the mattress, hot face against the cool sheets. He flips the dress up, and the material pools at the small of his back, sticking to where he's sweating.

The waiting is the worst part. He isn't allowed to look, and it kills him not to glance over his shoulder when he hears something scrape over the wood, not to take a chance when he hears the flutter of Pete's shirt hitting the floor. He's glad that he resisted when Pete lays the bright orange plugs in Patrick's line of vision as a warning.

Patrick hates the earplugs. They're good, thick factory ones that keep everything out. Pete could gag him, blindfold him, and Patrick would be fine. Taking away his hearing makes him tense and sad, missing all the little things around him when all he has is silence.

"You're going to count," Pete says. Patrick jumps when Pete's hand skims across the cool skin of his ass. "If you lose count once, we start over. If you lose count twice, the ear plugs go in."

Patrick nods against the bed and keeps himself still. He tries not to tense up, but he can feel Pete's hand coming down hard already, even though he hasn't moved a muscle. He waits and waits and nearly jumps out of his skin when Pete smacks his ass hard, the sound of it startling loud.

"One," he says, cringing against the sting. He fists his hands in the sheets and bites back a yelp when Pete does it again over the same spot. "Two."

Pete scritches his nails over the sore spot, and heat radiates out from it, curling around Patrick and sinking into his skin. He tries to open his legs wider, tries to do something to make the sting lessen, but the panties don't let him. Pete grabs a handful of Patrick's ass cheek before laying down three quick smacks across it in a line.

Patrick counts them – three, four, five – and the pain is melting into something that makes his thighs shake and his dick ache and his head go a little dizzy. Pete only ever takes him up to ten, doesn't think Patrick's really ready for more just yet, and Patrick's glad for it because he's pretty sure he won't be able to hold onto himself much longer.

He stutters over six, moans at seven. Eight makes him choke, and Pete spits into his hand, the sound slick and loud, and when nine comes, it's wet and makes him squirm on the sheets. His ass is on fire, burning in the shape of Pete's hands, and Patrick barely says ten at all, the sound of it whisper soft.

"See," Pete coos, voice low and thick. Patrick can feel his breath over the sore skin of his ass, and he shivers. "You can be good when you want to be."

Pete drags the dress down, and the material soothes the hot pulse of his skin, smooth and cool.

"You going to stay good for me?"

"Yes," Patrick says. He will, he will, he will.

Pete taps two fingers against the small of Patrick's back, and Patrick struggles to get up onto his knees, his legs feeling more like jelly than flesh and blood. He's happy that he's so focused on the throbbing of his dick, because otherwise he'd be stuck on the embarrassment that comes whenever Pete has him like this.

"Such a pretty, pretty girl." Pete presses a kiss to the inside of Patrick's thigh, dry and soft. "Let's try this again. Don't move."

Patrick clenches his teeth as he feels Pete's slick, hot tongue slide up, up, up to where the pain in finally receding. He doesn't know if he's still allowed to talk, doesn't care, just wants Pete to keep going. He feels himself shake as Pete's mouth trails across his ass, cooling the burn, and makes a stop at the base of his spine before dropping down again.

He's never really gotten over the fact that, sometimes, Pete sticks his tongue into Patrick's ass and that both of them like it. Patrick likes it, anyway, and the amount of time Pete spends doing it points that way too. Out of all of the – the dress, getting tied up, seeing too many toys on the internet to even start to dream up way to use them – Patrick thinks this is the most jarring of them all.

Pete holds Patrick open with his thumbs, fingers pressing lightly against Patrick's sore ass. The first broad swipe of his tongue makes Patrick's dick jump, the head skimming across the silky dress. He bites his lip, but a soft sound still escapes. He freezes, but Pete just laughs against his skin, the vibrations going right into Patrick's insides.

"I want to hear you," Pete says and presses the flat of his tongue to Patrick's hole again.

Relief floods through Patrick's chest as he moans.

Pete always wants to hear him. Once, Pete had called Patrick's house in the middle of the night and when Patrick picked up, told him to get off, to make as much noise as he could, didn't matter of he woke anyone. And Patrick had known that, really, he's the one that calls the shots. That he could have said no and Pete wouldn't have gotten mad or punished him. Still, he'd wrapped his hand around his dick and put on an embarrassing show, and thanked God that his mom was working a double.

Pete's running his tongue in tight, neat circles that make Patrick's stomach clench. He gasps when Pete presses it in, fast and without warning, and whines when Pete pulls it out. It becomes a pattern; maddening and hot and Patrick's dick is aching between his legs, heavy with the need to come.

"You're so wet for me," Pets coos, running one rough fingertip over Patrick's asshole. He presses it in, just a little, just enough, and Patrick has to fight not to hang his head and push back against it. "You're doing so good, pretty girl."

Pride swells up in Patrick's chest. It's almost as much of a turn on as the way Pete's pressing his finger in deeper in tiny, smooth increments. He's making Pete happy by behaving. He'll make Pete even happier if he can get through the whole thing without having another slip up.

Pete's hands vanish, but Patrick's only got a moment to miss them before he feels smooth, cold silicon pressing at the spot between his balls and his asshole. He tenses in apprehension, already knows what's coming and knows that he always has a hard time staying still like this.

"You're doing so good for me," Pete says again. He thumbs the switch at the base of the vibrator, and the steady hum fills the room. "Just a little longer. If you stay still for me, you'll get a reward."

Pete's taking it easy on him, knows that Patrick's still weak. He's gotten stronger in the past few months, learned to obey Pete better, but he's not there yet, no matter how hard he tries. Patrick bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut.

He's got to be a mess, eyeliner smeared and hair tangled, sweat making his face shiny. He's glad Pete can't see it. From this side, he's not very pretty at all.

Pete keeps the vibrator on its lowest setting, but even that makes Patrick's knees weak. Pete's teasing it over his hole, running the same circle his tongue had. It's driving him crazy. It's almost worse when. Pete stops, when he runs the thin head of it down over Patrick's balls, across his shaft.

Patrick nearly jumps when Pete slides a slick finger into him. He moans, the sound of the vibrator a steady beat under his voice. Pete twists his finger, stretches Patrick open just wide enough to slip the vibrator inside.

This is the part where Patrick always messes up. He breathes through his nose, digs his nails into his palms. His dick is so slick, so hard it hurts a little. He's not going to fuck up this time. He's not.

It's hilarious, when he lets himself think about it. Him, Pete. The whole... thing. He wonders what his friends would say if they could see him now, tense and trembling under the hands of That Hot Dude from Arma. It might even be worth the embarrassment of them seeing him in a dress, even.

He tries to think about that instead of the steady buzz inside him that's making him fail apart. About how he'd cornered Pete into it, how he'd needled his way into being. Into being whatever he is to Pete now, even through Pete's weak excuses. Too young to understand, could mess him up on sex forever, didn't want to hurt him.

Patrick holds back a startled laugh when Pete bites his hip, nails digging into his palms. Things change.

His fumbling grip on his memories come to a shuttering stop when Pete presses a finger in with the vibrator, pressing down on it. It makes Patrick shout, a bark of a sound that echoes off the walls. Pete bites him again, digs his teeth into the fleshy space where Patrick's ass meets his thigh.

It hurts to stay still, his muscles cramping with the urge to move. Pete lays a matching bruise on Patrick's other leg, nosing the spot below it as he slides the vibrator all the way in, holds it in with the heel of his palm.

"Such a good girl," Pete says against his thigh, hot and wet, the trace of his tongue over Patrick's bare skin like electric. "So good for me."

Patrick's losing it. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to block it out. He's close. So close. He can feel it building up in him, eating at his insides. He's going to break.

"I can't do it," he gasps out. He's sweating, shaking. Pete shushes him, pressing the vibrator in somehow deeper. He can feel it in the beating of his heart.

"You're so pretty like this," Pete tells him. "So strong, baby girl. So strong for me."

Patrick does jerk when Pete's hand wraps around his cock. He freezes up, disappointment rising in his chest. He had been so close.

"It's okay, baby. You did good. You made me happy." Pete bends over him, bare chest against Patrick's back like fire through the dress. His hips are holding the vibrator in, his hand stroking Patrick's dick slowly. "Come for me, pretty girl."

And Patrick does. It hits him hard, and only Pete's arm around his stomach is keeping him up, his knees weak and his arms numb. Pete jerks him through it, until Patrick goes soft. The vibrator is still pulsing inside him, and he squirms, moaning weakly.

Pete reaches down and flicks the vibrator off. The stillness is almost unnatural. Patrick lets Pete lower him to the bed, heavy all over. He sighs when Pete pulls the vibrator out, closing his eyes. He can't stop smiling.

When he wakes up, he's in his boxers again, face feeling freshly washes. Pete's pressed against his back, fingers splayed over Patrick's bare belly. Patrick feels loose and warm. Content.

"Hey," Pete says against Patrick's shoulder.

"Hey," Patrick slurs back sleepily. He fits his fingers into Pete's, humming against his pillow.

"How are you feeling?" Pete asks. He's pressing slow, easy kisses along Patrick's neck. Patrick hums again. Pete nips his ear warningly. "Words."

"Good," Patrick says out loud, flushing at the thought of the last hour. The fingers around his squeeze, and Patrick grins into his pillow. "Really good."


End file.
